The “BIGGER IS BETTER” mentality

Here it is, 16.5 weeks out from my show and my emotions are all over the place. I can usually fight out my demons alone…stick to my grind and power through, but this week I’ve had to reach out to my coach a lot for guidance. It’s odd for me to speak up for concern about my well being but my behavior lately has been even more foreign. I’m refusing rest days, eating more than whats on my diet and not listening to my body’s screams for help when I’m in pain. So what exactly is driving this insanity, making me not recognize myself but making the effort to seek help necessary?

The thought of being “small” scares the shit out of me.

It’s been a reality check seeing the countdown I made on my calendar, knowing that the weeks of a freer lifestyle are coming to a halt. After a year and 4 months of building I’m finally ready to prep to get back in the game, mentally that is…emotionally and physically, not so much. As the time is winding down in my off-season, my fears about the physical changes that my body is about to endure begin to surface. I recollect my struggles to keep any muscle last cut down due to my metabolism and some of the techniques my old coach used on me. I followed exactly, to the T, what my prior coach had told me from workouts to diet during my prep and by the time show date came, while lean, I was tiny and flat; making me feel disgustingly uncomfortable. So now that it’s time to throw myself back into the craziness of contest prep, the self-conscious feelings of being tiny again have returned and after spending so much time and effort on building muscle, I’m petrified of losing it again. I’ve applied myself so diligently to this lifestyle, this dream, that I’m afraid to be disappointed in following what my coach wants for me, even though I truly believe in her. Especially now with joining the physique division, there is even more pressure to be substantial on stage versus being a figure competitor and while Im not trying to look like I belong in the animal kingdom beating my chest like a silver back gorilla, I need to feel like I have more presence on stage with my body. But how on earth have I gotten this bad that I get panic attacks at the meer thought of being smaller? What cycle have I gotten myself into that makes me self-doubt to such an extreme when I drive my life on motivating? Where did this mindset of  being self-conscious derive from?

Eating disorders are not ony comprised of food addictions; they have a deep emotional rooting to them as well. They play with our minds, provoking unreasonable fears without a cause and making real life sometime seem paralyzing. We become engrossed in a parallel state and to try to get out of your own trapped thoughts is nearly impossible some days. You feel as if you’re in a cage, shaking the invisible bars like an animal while the world functions normally around you. I remember when I would be triggered by  stressors, I would hoard food away so when no one was around I could bury my emotions into something while the world still saw me as strong. There would be other times where I would do so much cardio to punish myself for a situation I (most likely) made worse in my head and then starve because I didn’t deserve the food feeling guilty from emotions (talking back in the day). It becomes a part of you, this demon composed of irrational pep talks, and can easily control your physical being into acts of violence against yourself. Being told countless times about how great I looked thin during my younger years or the affection I received from people when I was skinny drove me into that addiction; so while rebellious I am at heart, a sucker I was for adoration. It’s a cycle that can kill you if you don’t put an end to it, like I did…But now years later, what has triggered myself into punishment again? Those same anxious thoughts are eating away at me again and even though I don’t have the desire to enact in the same behaviors I did before, the emotional connection to my past addiction has surfaced. The correlation between the two extremes, one starving to be thin the other thirsting to be full, all lies under the same concept that many in this industry suffer from…poor self image.

I have been trying to go from thin to substantial for almost a year and a half, and through diligent training, diet and some supplement help I have FINALLY been able to keep some of my gains. While I wish I had more size before my cut, I’m grateful for the majority of my shape coming from my work ethic rather than chemicals. While recently I did seek “extra means” I take pride in the fact that I can throw weight around naturally that would make some men blush, so to finally see the mass in my body meet the weight that I push is truly rewarding. So the meer thought of seeing my gains leave is paralyzing. While I’m aware of the fact that there is fat on my body right now and with cutting you actually look bigger from an optical illusion, I still get a knot in my stomach at thinking about my past. While I had aced the competition and surprised everyone with 3 first place trophies, I HATED THE WAY I LOOKED. Listen winning is great and I have an amazing way of putting on a performance to fool an audience, but when you aren’t comfortable in your skin, those trophies are just to be put on your mental ego mantel. I despised looking pewny considering I could, even during contest prep, out bench some of my guy lifting partners. Back then I didn’t take a single thing though…nothing besides a fat burner…to get as lean as I did but in the process I withered down to nothing due to not having enough muscle to start with. I’ve been over this multiple times with my coach…over and over again about how much more mass I have on now and how I have the symmetry and shape to be a pro (which I’m crossing my fingers isn’t just a pep talk pick me up) so I shouldnt worry and just trust the process. I have the dedication to get lean by myself while many have to take massive amounts of drugs to get lean due to lack of discipline, and while I want to believe her I keep thinking about being on stage again with a fake smile. I can even pin point where this paranoia comes from…and it directly correlates with Edna (remember the name I gave my disorder). She was the soft spoken voice in my head coaxing me into detrimental actions against myself and I’m starting to hear her again. She talks me into doubting myself if I become tiny again, recollecting the clash between pride and poise, all while enticing me into the “get big” mentality. It was the same derivative as from where the thin thoughts came from, the public. See I was told constantly how great I looked before when I was thin…back in the day…so now that I’ve put on mass and I have received adoration for my gains, I don’t want to lose that either. does it sound vain, yup. Selfish, probably but I enjoy the eyes I get from strangers (looks not stares…I fuckin hate when people stare at me) or the open mouth surprise when I now look the part that I can lift. I’ve gotten the name in gyms as being “that beast chick” or “the girl who can outlift you brah”. I love getting the fist bump or people telling me, “damn T. you have really put in the work to grow.” I’ve gotten a high from looking as strong as the warrior I feel I am. I enjoy looking big… Is that wrong of me to take pride in myself, no not at all. But I’m afraid to lose that again now that it’s time to cut. I’m afraid to lose the thought of people telling me how much progress I’ve made and how big I’ve gotten. I kind of like that feeling of having presence in a room rather than just being the endurance chic. Luckily, thought, I’m aware of the association these thoughts have made with my past addiction so I’m making proactive goals to not be like one of my opponents and make unhealthy thoughts a reality again.

I’m not the only one who suffers from it, surprisingly many in this business I have come across are dealing with the same addiction even if the behaviors are different. Binge eating, starving, over exercising, constantly checking themselves for any change in their body…I hear about it all the time. It’s like the industry is made up of people who are fighting against their own demons to end up in the spotlight to prove their inner doubts wrong. I’m not saying everyone, but many I have met are either dealing with a body image disorder or are recovering from one. It’s amazing how many people I can relate to backstage or joke around with during a training session about a subject so intense that it could drive you to insanity but when you’re amongst other “addicts” it seems a route of normalcy. It’s something to bond over about how extreme we go with our training and diet and while to most it seems like a round of torture, to the athletes its our way of life. Men get this ego trip off lifting heavier than the next testosterone driven dude next to him or when standing next to another gorilla, his chest stands higher than his opponent. Women tend to want the best ass out of the bunch so they will do squats in their sleep if they have to. Both parties compare to soothe their own detrimental thoughts. We all self doubt at some point, from pro athletes to 4.0 grade point average scholars, people who try to achieve greatness within themselves or the world will at some point place doubt in some aspect of their beings. Now I’m sure many “normal” gym or non gym goers feel a correlation to this subject matter but competitors take it to an extreme due to putting our bodies up for show, voluntarily. One of the reasons I joined the competition world was to break my fear of a bathing suit. Take myself back 6 years ago and I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a two piece but 2 years ago I was prancing on stage in what would make a brazilian blush. It was a battle of the good angel and bad angel on my shoulders everyday, keeping myself in check and not relapsing into my prior state of mind all the way leading up to the show. But with all that I have to conquer over the years, this was just another battle God threw at me to defeat, which I did. The horror stories I hear about what other competitors divulge so openly is scary but relatable. .So where do we draw the line? What passes as being dedicated but halts at psychotic? What is the difference between a loyal competitor and a body dismorphic robot? hmmmm good question. Because, even though we always preach about health, those who don’t recognize their behaviors are the farthest from healthy.

I’ve based much of my mental and emotional; strength from my physical triumphs over the years. All of what my body has endured has been overcome through a state of mind. They work off of each other, filtering out the doubts and replacing the negative reactions with positive actions. I feel as if I’ve become a motivator for many, showing that you can overcome any thing you put your mind to. I’m determined to not only beat this disease on the daily but motivate others, even non competitors, that body dismorphia is real. Whether it be thinking your chest is too small or your gut is to big, going to extremes to rectify the “wrong” in your head is not the smart choice to be made. Reach out when you feel your mind out of sorts. For the longest time I thought of myself as the machine, never stopping nor glitching to show the world I was made of steel. But all things break down and need a service or two, so by recognizing my unhealthy behaviors and sharing them with the world, I’m hoping this to help people in my industry and in “real life” to enact in the same behaviors. I’m learning, becoming more aware of the signs, taking preventative measures to get over this crippling fear of not being comfortable in my skin again.

I keep telling myself one thing every time I question my progress or outcome. I may not be the biggest on stage, but I will be the best athlete and baddest bitch up there. And surprisingly, along with the help of my coach, talking back against Edna is working quiet well.

The Silence of Success

There are few and far moments in my life where I get to enjoy complete and utter silence. There’s no one to respond to, no errands needing to be done, no phones ringing to be answered, no person’s needs to be met, no responsibilities to be tended to…so when I have the opportunity to listen to only my thoughts, I cherish it. It gives me the chance to envision the direction I imagine my life heading in or the ability to check myself against decisions that I’m pondering or have already made. Those precious moments of peace give me solstice in a world so hectic that at times I wonder when I can catch my breath and appreciate my hard work. It’s a struggle, a hustle to keep this dream alive and the negative noise can be deafening, making defeat seem easy. But when I close my eyes, even for a meer moment with nothing but the sound of my heart beat to hear, all seems right again.

I have the option of going to a gym 5 minutes from my house and some days, due to my schedule I choose to go that route but majority of the time I travel 20 minutes just to have me time. It’s sad that it’s come down to traveling as my means of solitude but when I’m behind the wheel, I’m not answering questions from clients or responding to someone else’s crisis. Most of the time, I ride in silence. Pure and utter silence. Those 20 minutes of freedom allow me to plan my mode of attack on the way to the iron battlefield and on the way home, reflect on my accomplishments. I bring myself into this place of calmness where my focus becomes unbreakable and my breathing is intense. Every mile closer that I drive, my grasp on the wheel becomes tighter and the demons that I have fought surface, helping to bring my fierce spirit to life. As I pull in and walk up to the door, I have but one thought… Kill switch on. My workout is planned and what I’m determined to do I imagine coming  into fruition. But when I pass through the entrance gate, that’s when I put on my music to deter any “gym chatter birds” and I go to work. Now during my training time,  I have my headphones on the entire time. It has to have a heavy beat to drown out the exterior noise but after I’m done and sweaty, the music is paused. I change, walk out to my truck and take a breather. There’s something about the quiet solitude of exhaustion that makes me completely satisfied. To only hear the intake of my breath as my body recovers from the hell I just put it through makes me  relaxed. I close my eyes for a moment and smile through the pain I’m in and all becomes well.

I train hard. No shit right? But when I say hard I mean as in I look at every workout as a challenge against the last. So majority of the time driving home I’m in agony from my leg or my left hand because when I’m in the moment, while training smart, I tend to push through physical pain. My injuries can become quiet taxing on my mindset. It’s easy to be succumbed to physical pain. Not many know, nor would I wish anyone to know, how mentally tiring fighting through my ailments is. It takes every inch of me to power through some of my training sessions so I take pride in the fact when I make it through those certain days. Quad and bis are the days that I dread, due to how bad my hand and knee are on my left side. Even with the proper gear, to grab my shaker bottle or step in my truck is a challenge so when I push myself to curl 55 pounds then super set it or hack squat 565, those moments for me are silently reflected on during my ride home. With the radio off and the whirring of the heater on, I drive in tunnel vision; only aware of the traffic signals and the throbbing of my body. I think about how I’ve gotten here…to this place of what I feel is becoming a rags to riches story. I ponder where God will take me next and what battles I may endure to make even more gains in my young life. I have to say I’m pretty proud of where I am currently and grateful for who has aided in my successes along the way. The opportunities that I’ve taken and the mistakes that I’ve learned from all seem to flood my thoughts on those quick 20 minutes home and it makes me appreciate the beating I put my physical body through to obtain the future that I dream of. That desolate time, those quiet thoughts make my determination to wake up everyday with purpose greater felt and I often sit in my truck, even after I pull into my driveway, daydreaming about what I will achieve in the future.

I am often asked what my secret is. How do I stay so focused? What is the magic pill for determination? And like everything else, there is no easy button to push for an answer. Everyone has their little quirks that guide them through tough times. They have their own mechanisms to proceed in seconds of struggle but while flattering, I’m often puzzled by how many people ask me what that magic pill consists of. In all honesty, my solitude has guided me to where I am now…along with faith in many things greater than myself. I’m honored by the belief that people have in me, for that pushes me to the next level to help inspire them to keep going but keeping my mindset honed has really depended on only me. Meaning, the times that I have had it the hardest, I’ve locked myself away. I strapped down my emotions and fought headstrong to the finish line. I havent always had the support that I’ve had recently over the past few years, so my means of success have been driven from silence. Those moments like I described before have pushed me to the next level, and sometimes over the edge. I’ve made plenty of mistakes along the way, but as I get older I appreciate the lessons learned more and more and I make it a point to give myself moments to engage in only my own thoughts. Age is just a number, it is not a determining factor in a maturity level. Life experiences can guide us in many different directions but when I’ve alloted time to ponder in the circumstance, I’ve definitely made better decisions on the roads that I have taken. I’ve made so many hasty decisions over the years that have cost me more than just my sanity, so now taking time to think about all the potential outcomes is crucial. Taking a few seconds to ask yourself or imagine yourself in a situation can really make or break the outcome so in those few minutes I have, I make it count.

Foreseeing my future, imagining it, gives me motivation. I rarely look forward to things out of my control because if I’m not making it happen, life has shown me that you can’t depend on others to do it. Sounds bitter right? Well it’s reality. If you aren’t going to make it happen, than majority of the time it wont occur. People can say plenty but when it comes to backing the words up with action, many aren’t great at it. If I say it will happen, it does. But I carefully weigh out the pros and cons before making a definitive decision on a challenge. I have to make sure this is a wise mission to go on and if I can handle it at that point in my life. Taking time to evaluate the timing and to see if I can manage the dream is important due to the fact that I don’t handle failing well at all. Failure to me, even in the littlest form can intensify into a tragedy and over the years I’ve realized how crucial it is for me to make decisions based on what I can handle rather than jumping into the challenge and falling face first. I know depression will set in at the mire thought of having to give up so now that I’m more mature, the battles I chose to partake in are carefully planned out. If I set my mind to a goal, I make sure through hell and high water Im trudging to make it occur. So seeing and planning out my future is to prepare myself for the unknown and set up ways to dodge potential bullets with plan a,b and c.  Is life perfect where we can have every maneuver planned and accounted for? If you believe that then I would imagine you’re also the person who believes that women who lift heavy will get bulky and look like men…idiots…any who. Even though we can’t plan out the process, foreseeing potential potholes makes the road easier to navigate on rather than jumping into the driver’s seat and coming out the gate like a bat out of hell.

While it may sound insane to try to plan out such uncertainty, give it a try. If you’re trying to get out of a certain circumstance or you feel seemingly stuck in a rut, take a moment to imagine your life differently. Picture the positives, the potentials, the pleasures in success and if you can see it clearly enough, then the road to that destination will become unrestricted as well. Taking the time to weigh out the side effects of your decisions and even to jot down thoughts, connecting the dots along the way, makes things become more realistic. I hear all the time, “take life by the horns and take risk!” and you can do this, but in a smart way. You’re taking a chance on a desired outcome that isn’t guaranteed but designing a way to accomplish the deed is far more rewarding than ending up falling over and over again from poor planning. Whether it be weight loss, saving for a vacation, college, higher job status…whatever the task is, plan for it. It’s an incredible reward to have what you foresaw in the past come into fruition in your future.

The time where I have absolutely NOTHING to do is slim pickins. Whether it be taking care of my home, errands, food prep, work, gym time, client demands, friend’s needs…jesus If I have time to pee the gallon of water I drink a day its a blessing. But I chose this busy life because one day, long ago, when I didn’t have anything to do I pictured this scenario today…maybe not as insane but as rewarding. I imagined and thought of a way out of my then depressed state of mind and have pushed myself to this point now, standing here a bit weathered but showing a smile. Majority of my down time is measured in only 45 second intervals when I’m in between sets at the gym but to have pure silence is a luxury for me. To have the smooth sounds of nothing but my thought patterns are moments that are worth more than a monetary amount could provide. To have the chance to imagine, review, revise, and edit my dreams is crucial in this whole journey to my card or any goal really. While impatient I am at times, being realistic and mature about my goals keeps me in line, and hard as it may to wait for my body to progress, taking it day by day while enjoying my 20 minutes of silence saves me.

Queen of the Jungle

With valentine’s day fast approaching, love is in the air. Stores are filled with calorie ridden treats and commercials on tv make you want to vomit with the over zealous push for intimacy and frilly cards. Couples are rekindling romances, spending countless dollars on their partners and treating each other like they should be all year round in just one day. While Single people on the other hand, are either rejoicing from not spending their hard earned money on a failing relationship or hanging themselves from yet another Hallmark holiday spent alone. So in lieu of the potentially stressful holiday, I’ve written a witty entry about why I’m spending the holiday (5 years straight now) watching bloody, gory slasher movies and eating peanut butter (the true love of my life) in hopes of my qualms found in the gym dating world bringing laughter to this nauseating time of year. 

Let’s face it, like I’ve mentioned before my dating life is in the ruts. With my life, where am I going I find time to meet someone?? The grocery store? Only jaded, shlopy and hopeless people scour the isles for peanut butter and their next social experiment (oh shit that is me…) so besides for work (which you should NEVER do) where on earth am I going to meet a man? I rarely go to night clubs, I’m not a bar rat and I refuse to stoop as low as online dating (did three dates from match.com and I wanted to jab my eyeballs out with a shank for how mad I was that I didn’t see those mistakes coming) SO where am I to meet Mr. Right?? Where do I spend the most time? What do I truly love that I would like to share with someone? Where would I have about 45 seconds or rest to catch my breath and make contact with other humans? The gym…damn it. The characters that I have met have brought me to a stomach gripping laugh with their antics and turn on techniques, which have made the selection slim pickins no matter what weight lifting room I step into…never from planet fitness though. I need a man who grunts without getting thrown out of a gym due to their anti grunting policy…sorry went off on another rant for a sec…bringing it back around…

Hunting for buried treasure:

Now I’ve heard of the term gold digger, referring to a female looking for cash, but the male specimen I’m talking about is having his own type of  treasure hunt.

It never fails. I’ll be picking up my weights and I go to look up and there’s Mr. Johnson staring at me, picking at himself while he’s trying to pick me up. There’s one of them in every gym…whether his jock strap is too tight or he’s having a medical issue, it’s the least bit attractive to be talking to a man who’s adjusting himself constantly. He could use every line in the book but if he’s scratching his manhood in no way, shape or form am I giving him a reading. I understand that there are instances where adjustments need to be made, but let’s refrain from doing so while you’re trying to lay it thick on me. And acting like I’m not going to notice you fidgeting around like a you have ants in your pants, isn’t making me want to say yes to your offer to take me out. FYI if there’s that much of an issue, wear proper attire or get in touch with your ex girlfriend to double check the reason yours scratching. I’m not messing with that situation.

Don Pepe’:

The Smoozer. The smooth talker. He takes so many selfies while kissing himself in the mirror, it’s sickening. This is the guy with the oiled back hair and matched to perfection Armani attire…making sure no hair is out of place and every angle of his workout is built off how well pumped he looks in the mirror. He walks with a suave swag that makes you wonder if he’s thinking he’s on a runway rather than being in a gym hallway. He pouts all the time with this fish lipped, shit stupid look making you think he would rather kiss himself in the mirror than another human being and when he mosies over towards you the amount of cologne he’s wearing turns your stomach easy over. This is Don Pepe. He’s that cocky, pretended rich guy who believes his sleezeball slick charm will reel you in. When approached by these self centered types, my normal protocol is to hold my breath and not look up, allowing myself not to breath in his overly applied cheap perfume and giving him no opportunity to either wink at me or shoot me the flick of the finger (you know what I’m talking about…when they put their index and thumb up insinuating a hand gun and point at you…sometimes even pretending to blow the smoke off…) The one at my gym always wears the same shirt all the time and takes photos of himself, so when I’m in there I stay far away and lift on the other side of the gym…this way I’m not choking on the fumes he reeks of nor am I dodging his invisible bullet.

The Married Guy:

One of my favorites… That guy who watches from a distance but insinuates the cheat saying, “If I wasn’t married” or “if I was single”…well Browski you’re pussy whipped so that means x-nay on the titan-aye. This kind of guy really gets my gears going because he wants to see if you would make the move to initiate the cheat by feeling up your arms (personal bubble!!!) and saying “Man would I like to shoot those guns off sometime!” all while winking that perverted stare thing…and yes I’ve heard that line before! If a guy has to start any come on with “If I wasn’t with someone” then looking the other way would be preferred because I would rather not have his wife, who could be large and have a criminal back ground come after me with a kitchen knife yelling, “he had his ring off because his fingers are fat! not because he doesn’t love me!” Swelling fingers or not, if I see any signs of a desperate man, I tend to run in the other direction, bum leg and all. I’m not getting chased because he wanted to load on the bazookas. NOPE.

The Geezer:

Yah know that old guy in the gym that is always there for hours but never breaks a sweat? He is usually wearing bright-colored, swishy running shorts that are 2 sizes too small, knee high socks with sandals and if you’re lucky he will don a sweat band…to hold back his faiding hairline. He comes over to compliment you on your form and reminisce of when he was young, being all sweet and seeming innocent. Then his googly eyes begin bulge along with other body parts and you look for any excuse to RUN FOR YOUR LIFE. I have a soft spot for older people, I always have but old single men can use that oh so soft spot to their advantage. Trust me when I say this…watch out for the AARP members. They have the best lines to get your attention…usually dealing with what exercises they should do for their recently replaced hip…and if they ask you to show them how to a hip thrust since their surgery…refrain. It could give them a heart attach which due to their senior status, they might now come back from.

The Reminiscer:

This is the guy that always makes me chuckle. They randomly select you, usually mid pump, and give you the head nod in appreciation. Then they proceed to mosey over, their gut following in the opposite direction of their stride, to fist pound you for your efforts. Which would be fine until they then go into a 20 minute story about how they used to be involved in the lifting world until they got married then divorced then bankrupt. Oh the tales I could tell about from these winners…They go into detail about how their workouts were or how much they could press or even the size that their biceps used to be…which currently is about half the size of my forearm. Even as you peel away to get back into your set, they go on and on and on…I have tried to even put my headphones on but they keep talking!! The kicker here is that they then try to get your number in such an “easy to fall for,  pity me” way. They seemingly are interested in your stage debut so they will ask about your show or say how they don’t have a lifting buddy and want to work in with you (even though they are twice my age and I don’t do their half repped exercises…) trying to shove their way into your phone book, usually giving you the puppy dog eyes. Now you’re probably thinking “damn this bitch is harsh. Let the man commemorate his biceps in an elaborated story” BUT you havent been there if you feel like I’m being the annoying one. Real talk.

The Douchebag:

Haha. I guarantee anyone from Jersey knows exactly whom I’m about to talk about. That guy who only works out his chest and his mouth. He’s usually using his hands to speak rather than grab a weight and when he does open his cocky mouth it’s to complain or gloat. This is the guy who comes to the gym three times a week to work off his alcohol consumption and doesn’t know a squat from a dry weekend. He tries to hit on every girl in the gym, making his rounds while the scent of axe and the remains of fake tan follow him. He usually has some sort of accent (pretending to be Italian when using words like Piesano or salami) and flexes his peck muscles with a wink when a blonde girl walks past him, then nudging his buddies like “eh brah, look at dat piece. I bet she slams just as well as I do a bottle of Belvidere.” (in that stupid Italian accent again….even though he’s white) You can spot him with his Italian flag tattoo and bro squad all spotting his chest game and fist pumping to the song on the speaker system…even if its Katy Perry. While they may very well carb up for their Monday peck deck pump at their mom’s house with pasta and wine, these guys are only looking for a quick in and out so beware of their slick lines…usually more slippery than their hair-do. To dodge these d-bags, I just sit on the bench next to them and rock the same weight…that usually scares them into needing another drink.

The Cross fit guy:

I would imagine these guys to choke down about 4 scoops of pre workout for their 30 minute KB training or crazy WOD (I just googled their stupid terminology to research this segment) They gloat in their tight bright pants about their muscle up training all while one rep maxing on their deadlifts. They load up plate after plate then leave it there, talking and using the bar as a foot stool rather than an exercise (because they need ample rest in between their hard-earned maxes…rolling eyes) They tend to rock pull ups right in the way of your set, because they need to keep their heart rate at a certain height and cant wait for you to finish your unimportant weight lifting. Not only do I think Cross fit is utterly ridiculous and  dangerous but the gang that rolls with it are just as crazy as their burpie obsession.  They have this cocky aire about them, and when they hit on you they disguise their injured brain cells from to many inverted hangs, by using terminology that only a cross fitter would understand…not a meathead, like myself. Men take note, don’t come after my snatch while bragging about the gains on yours.

The Creeper:

Theres always that guy in the gym counting out loud when a chick walks by and it’s usually in the neighborhood of around 80 reps…using 60 pound weight on a tricep kickback, completely out of form. He’s got attire from the 70’s and he has that bobble head swagger…you know where he’s bouncing his head to the beat of his own tune…He hits on anything in spandex pants, even if the specimen has a beard and his demeanor screams of a bad porno past. He tries to fit in with the crowd, reppin the gallon of water or using terms like “sport” but when he comes up to you, its usually with intention to use some bad pick up line like “If I said you had a nice body, would you hold it against me…Please??!!” They tend to follow the female, moving to the machine closest to you in hopes of catching your scent and when he does, boy will he comment on it. I’m only saying this because there is one at my gym in WOW who, at times, I wonder if I’ll need pepper spray and a hair brush to ward off. Now if the disco pants nor the bad pick up lines don’t deter you, then this clingy specimen is just your ticket to romance…If not, be like me and grab some mase…you never know when he is lurking.

 Mr. Wikipedia:

The rain man of the gym. The guy that knows everything and anything that has to do with fitness, nutrition and workouts that he learned all off of his instagram. He could reference the carb count of a sweet potato (baked or raw) while doing a reverse fly and then somersaulting into a split to tell you why stretching your glutes is good for gains. His plan of attack on an innocent female?…”Do you need a spot to get the appropraite propulsion for mass gains?” OMG when I heard that line given to me I almost farted from laughing. That has actually been said to me from this exact type of guy. Now, I would love to meet a dumbed down version of this high strung encyclopedia because I think this would be an ideal marriage of the minds but if he tries to come on to me while versing a stretch maneuver he learned from Paige Hathaway, gumby and I are going to have an issue.  

The Thug rider:

Now at times, when provoked, I can be a bit hood rat; repeating terminology that could get me street cred from a blood BUT when in a regular circumstance,  I don’t speak slang. The guy I’m referring to is the thug who may crip walk his way over to you, brush his shoulders off then talk about how great your booty looks as you drop it low in the squat rack. With my history, I tend to attract this type of guy majority of the time so I’m speaking from experience when I say that I usually can’t understand a word they are saying. Smiling and nodding gets me far in the conversation but when it comes to answering I usually say I have to get back to my pump. These guys tend to rock that jailhouse workout that you see on instagram (because apparently that means all their bros are doing it) and they also wear beats by dre. I can’t tell what’s more distracting on these guys though, the fact that I can see their boxers due to their pant sag or that they are constantly licking their lips when kickin it to me, which for all I know could be a sexual connotation but I’m to engulfed with the thought of pantsing them to care. I have to admit, I’ve been suckered more than a few times into their grasp because of my preference to tattoos and bad boy ascetics but I’ve learned my lesson. The minute they come onto me with lines about how a snow bunny like myself could fulfill their fantasies of a playboy bunny, I just look down at my lacking chest and say “Nigga please” (NOT BEING OFFENSIVE TO ANYONE!!!)

 
So do you see my dilemma? Which would you chose? Personally, orange swishy pants are a deterent for me but Im down to slim pickins at this point so attire can be fixed. Or I could go with Wikipedia if I ever go big in the industry, atleast I would have a go to when I need prep help. Tough times call for desperate measures and Im sure the creeper would atleast worship the ground I ran on…so there’s a possibility…sigh…

Looking for Tarzan in this jungle is going to be harder than I thought.

The Co$t to Compete

It’s a Friday night and I’m doing my typical Friday night routine…cleaning. At 25 years old you would think I’d be out dating or hanging with friends but instead of rockin out on the dance floor, I’m scrubbing the floor singing “whistle while you work.” With my schedule and lifestyle so strict, I’ve had to make changes to my everyday norms to accommodate the restrictions. But as I scrubbed away, I began to think how I had gone from hot mama to home body and perhaps, I’ve gone a bit too far in the opposite direction from who I once was in hopes to achieve this golden dream…

The Cost of Competing…

We all have to make sacrifices when deciding to follow a dream. College kids take out student loans and scrape pennies, Lawyers spend sleepless nights making cases to become partner, athletes grovel in constant soreness training for that gold medal but how far to an extreme would you go for the unknown? We pour hundreds of dollars and spend countless hours in preparation for only what we imagine could happen, not what is guaranteed. Yeah, you take the appropriate measures to calculate the risk factors, but even after you weigh out the options and choose accordingly, is it enough? Is all the time and effort worth a shot in the dark? Is it really worth the overall cost?

The expenses we take as competitors are steep. Preparing for the stage is not only strenuous on your body but on your bank account as well. I’m quiet rehearsed in the clipping of the coupons jig and the penny pinching parade to be able to afford this goal. I work more and stay in more than most people I know, disregarding how young I am. I eat in instead of splurging out, I shop for clothes at thrift stores and I haven’t been on a vacation in 5 years all because I’ve been on my own for so long. Even before competing, while other kids my age were enjoying spring breaks in Cancun, I was working 3 jobs and trying to stay afloat, missing out on many of the things young adults get to take advantage of. I balance everything, calculate my spending and make sure bills/ loans are paid and then hope I can put money into my savings for competing. Many people in my industry have the opportunity to live with their parents, being able to save their dollars and afford the best of the best. I don’t have that option and while at times I could feel bitter about it, I instead put my nose back on the grind stone and press on. The monthly expenses are enough to knock you out, let alone the actually cost of the one day of glory. Round one of the shocker: I pay a coach, even though I’m a trainer, to prep me in 12 weeks for what you spend on rent in 2 months. Kidney Punch. Round two: My meat bill a month is around 250$$ depending on my diet…and if that changes we are talking 300$$ ON MEAT ALONE Jaw breaker. Round three: Every 18 days I spend 50$ on ONE TYPE of protein powder… that doesn’t include the other two types I have nor my pre workout, intra workout, vitamins, minerals, fat burners or supers. TKO And that is just the MONTHLY expenses. That doesn’t include the actual day of competition, which is even more atrocious. You have traveling costs to get to the hotel you have to book near the show, entrance fees, hire a makeup artist, a tanning professional and hair stylist to follow you around all day (because trust me, the last thing you want is an uneven tan from you attempting to pee or your hair looking like a rat’s nest due to nerves), accessories and suit costs and I can’t forget the side money for the junk food after….thats the most important part!!! (any competitor would agree) And as a female to compete, the cost is worse due to one teeny tiny piece of fabric, the suit. Competition suits are not cheap by any means. My suit last year, which wasn’t even a national level bikini was 500$. I would imagine you now holding your chest, gasping for air at the thought of spending half a month’s rent on a piece of fabric that barely covers my whoha but that’s a cheaper price that I paid. When you compete in national shows, your suit price becomes more expensive due to the beading and detail that it must have and we are talking expensive as in over a grand…just another way for the industry to screw you. Oh and speaking of screwing you up the yingyang, I have yet to mention the price of your npc card and category entrance fees.  You have to pay to enter these competitions, per category where depending on the show, can range anywhere from $50-$150 PER category. At my last show I entered three categories; novice, open and class b. I heard the cash register machines dinging all the way up to when they called my name for 3 first place trophies…then all I could hear were angels singing. ahhhhhhh So in retrospect the $1000 + day was worth it, but it’s not a guarantee that you will have the same luck as me. So is that cost of the prep and day worth the risk? Are you willing to spend thousands a year on a lifestyle built on the glory of a win????

It’s not only the financial cost that we pay to be engulfed in this, there’s the personal price  as well. When deciding between a hobby or a lifestyle one must take into consideration the emotional cost you will incur when you choose to know the difference between enjoying a pastime or encompassing it as your world. When I decided that I was going to get serious and make my dreams come true, I had to separate myself from some activities and people. It had nothing to do with them as individuals but temptation for me was strong and I had to break away from certain environments to be able to secure my mindset towards my goals. Many didn’t take it well, and the negative response and commentary I received was disturbing. While I was just trying to better myself, the backlash that I got for not being the party animal that I once was has now turned me away completely from that scene. I chose to avoid temptation but now I wonder if I’ve sequestered myself in darkness, avoiding people and places so that I can get up early for my workouts and work schedule, but more because that’s where I’m safer. Put me in a party situation and I’m instantly anxious, where as before I was up on the bar being the funny gal as I funneled tequila and made a fool of myself. Yeah those were great times but when I chose another route to my life, the behaviors that I began to live by highlighted some bad behaviors in others that I used to exude. So now I alienated myself on purpose and by accident, leaving me on a Friday night scrubbing the floors and writing this blog. I’ve become more at ease with being by myself, just because it seems not many people are willing to understand my level of dedication to how I live. While I get the invites, due to my schedule for work or training I can’t always go…and if I did, would I even enjoy myself? I’ve become a loner, afraid of being questioned constantly about the b.s. of the industry that I would rather sit alone then deal with the onslaught of mockery. My close friendships have become few and far between and not that I don’t have many great people in my life but there are many who refuse to see me for what I am now, regressing to who I once was….the girl on the bar…which makes me want to stay kept aside, knowing that so many still think of me that way.

There’s also the dating scene that has completely been null and void for me. We are talking spider webs in places that shouldnt ever have webbing. Lord the break up excuses that I’ve heard…but there’s one consistent one…one line that I’ve heard countless times whether they were breaking up with me or finding some lame excuse for the slip of their dick…you’re to focused on your career Tina. Now even though I work well over the normal 40 hours and train as hard as I do, I always alott time for my relationships. But whether I’m dating a competitor or a “normal” person, my relationships become strained due to my level of dedication, so they say. I always go into a budding romance with vocalizing on how important this chapter in my life is and how I welcome him into my world but there will be times where the sweat that I pour in the gym will be a higher priority than a movie night snuggling. While they seem to understand the concept, when it comes down to living it, the men I chose never seem to handle it well. I’ve dated competitors. I’ve dated gym rats. I’ve dated active people, but the result has always been the same; that I’m too absorbed in myself or the thrill of the weights. While it may be true to some point, I have next to no patience for men that can’t stand on their own or lack balls. I may be, at times, very involved and dedicated to this, but I make plenty of effort with my partner. I just don’t coddle, because men have balls for a reason….to use them. I remember the first time I caught my x cheating on me…while he was an athlete himself who understood the process of competing, he proceeded to tell me the reasons that he cheated on me…which included because my breath smelt of egg whites, my feet were manly due to cardio training and a competition ready body was disgusting to a man of his stature. Take that in for a sec…he cheated on me because I ate egg whites and had chipped toe nail polish but proceeded to turn it around on me because I was following the necessary steps to win. So what should I do? Stay single, which at times could be WONDERFUL because I have time to really get hard core training in but I would love someone to share this all with. Is it possible to find a swolemate that understands my level of dedication to my trade? Or will I always be asking for table of one and paying the bill by myself?

So we’ve gone over the details of friendship and romantic relationship costs, paid the dues to both but then there’s the price I’ve paid with my family, in particular my father. While I’ve mentioned in post blogs about my father’s distaste for what I do, the emotional toll I’ve passed through has been a hefty fine to pay. At this point I’m stuck choosing whether to have my dad in my life or having a body building dream. At times we struggle for the right answer but when you hear of an ultimatum being given about having someone in your life or having true dreams as your life, well it’s not an easy decision to make. I worry that my fight for this will  make me an orphan, choosing my words carefully. With things as bad as they have gotten, being told that you aren’t warranted to be in someone’s life nor are your priorities straight because of the path you’ve chosen makes one fearful. I debate between two thoughts; that if I dropped this and took on modeling to have my father be proud of me, would I be happier? Or am I choosing correctly by walking away from our relationship, giving it space so that I can be proud of me and my efforts to look how I want to and be who I want to be. Parents nor children are innocent to making mistakes, but owning them is key. I’ve invested so much time and effort into finding myself and correcting the mistakes of my past that yes I haven’t spent as much time as I should have with my family. I just wish they could understand how badly I want this to come true. How much I crave success in many different forms. Or how all the work that I’ve done, the time I’ve sacrificed, the prices I’ve paid have got me to the maturity I walk with now…Im proud of my body more than ever, and if that means that my father won’t be in my life because I’m carrying more muscle, then that’s a reality that I must accept and a due I have to settle.

Do I want to learn how to balance this all? Yes. Am I trying? Absolutely. But at times its hard to know what borders normalcy or insanity when living in this industry. Am I doing right by making sure my entire life is on schedule and all funds are accounted for? Or should I try to be a bit more representative of my actual age, and learn how to have more fun? Is pursuing a dream really worth the sacrifices when we don’t know if it’s ever obtainable? No matter what the goal is, is having focus on a set item really worth making the outside world blurry to a keen eye? Where is the border between sanity and insanity cut and will we ever learn to balance on that line?

I’m footing the bill on this one.